


Brevet

by IrenkaFeralKitty



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Face misses Ton, Gen, Promotions are scary, Wraith Squadron - Freeform, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrenkaFeralKitty/pseuds/IrenkaFeralKitty
Summary: Captain (brevet rank) Garik “Face” Loran. That had a ring to it. It could be the ringing of doom, but possibly not.





	Brevet

**Author's Note:**

> Set near the beginning of “Solo Command”.

Face clutched the envelope Commander Antilles had given him tightly, feeling the outline of his new rank insignia as the Wraiths patted his shoulders and offered their congratulations before filing out of the briefing amphitheater. It was one thing to temporarily take over assigning work duties while Janson had been out on medical leave. It was another to be handed command of Wraith Squadron. Him? A brevet captain? It seemed impossible, but the commander wasn’t pranking him. He wouldn’t mess around with something like this.

“Congratulations,” Janson said as he walked over. His expression was as cheery as it had been with Commander Antilles had announced Face’s promotion and his posture and stride was completely relaxed. Digging into his pockets, he produced a short stack of datacards. “Rank has its privileges as well as its curses. Here are the curses.”

One by one, Janson dropped the datacards into Face’s hands, describing them as he went. First was an administrative manual and other files and forms he’d need to fill out as a new officer, then personnel records for the Wraiths, a copy of their current orders, new briefing documents, and finally, a piece of flimsi with the location and door code for his new office.

“You’ll need to meet with Commander Antilles for all the things a mere lieutenant isn’t allowed to know about,” Wes concluded once Face’s hands were overflowing. “Then you and I can start going over squadron matters.”

Face stared at the stack of datacards for a moment. In a brief moment, the shiny gloss of his new rank had vanished under the crushing weight of responsibility.

Apparently sensing his sudden change in mood, Janson consolingly patted Face’s shoulder. “We are on leave until tomorrow, so all this can wait. I would suggest doing some reading tonight, but no one expects you to have complete mastery on the administrative side of things right away. Take it easy tonight. Just not too easy.”

With a final nod, the cheerful pilot turned and headed for the door where Hobbie Klivian of Rogue Squadron was waiting for him.

It was impossible for Face to miss Janson’s subtle change in stride, the enticement that appeared in his swagger and the question he asked Klivian with a simple tilt of his head. Klivian’s silent agreement was expressed with a small smirk and a quick flicker of his eyes. The two men departed with Klivian close on Janson’s heels. The taller pilot was a bit harder to read thanks to how dramatically prosthetics altered physical presentation, but Face had been around the Rogues long enough now to have the signs sorted out. Mischief may be the immediate plan for the pair, but Face suspected they’d prefer their privacy afterwards.

When the door slid shut behind Janson and Klivian, Face was alone in the amphitheater. Quickly, he shoved Janson’s datacards into a pocket and tore open the envelope, shaking the new rank insignia into his hand. The simple silver square gleamed up at him, the overhead lights catching on the plain surface. Face ran a thumb over the two dots declaring him a captain.

Even after everything that had happened, Face hadn’t truly believed he’d be able to progress very far through the ranks. Commander Antilles’s offer to try out for a new squadron had simply been a last ditch effort to find a way to make a difference and atone for the unwitting aid he’d provided the Empire years earlier.

Ton had believed in him, Face knew. He’d commented more than once on the inevitability of Face’s eventual promotion and had usually followed with a bland request for Face to remember everyone who’d helped him along the way when he accepted his new rank. Ton was gone, though. The one person who’d supported and believed in him the most had passed on, leaving Face to fumble his way forward alone.

Clutching tighter at the rank insignia, Face tried to focus on the way the metal edges bit into his flesh, and not on the still-awful void Ton had left behind. It seemed like both forever and as though no time had passed since Ton had been shot down.

This was probably why the commander had been so casual in announcing his promotion. Face wasn’t sure if he would have been able to get through a formal ceremony knowing Ton should have been there with a witty remark.

Hesitating for a moment, Face grappled with his uniform for a moment, pulling off the Lieutenant rank tab and setting the new on in its place. He didn’t truly feel like he’d earned it, but he also didn’t plan on telling Wedge Antilles he was wrong about something.

Crumpling the now empty envelope into a ball, Face shoved it into an empty pocket and headed for the door. It was probably pure luck that another squadron hadn’t arrived to take over the briefing space once the Rogues and Wraiths had departed.

Once Face was mixed in with the usual foot traffic that filled the halls of the Home One, he walked with a deliberately casual stride, hands clasped behind his back as he made his way towards his quarters. As his eyes flickered across the various sentients pass through the halls, Face found himself automatically categorizing each and every one of them.

Human male from Chryselia on his way to the mess hall. Near human from Shingra who’d spent many years working in zero gravity. Blue haired human female from Harloff Minor recovering from a muscular strain.

On and on it went, Face’s brain running a constant analysis on everyone around him, a steady stream of information he couldn’t turn off. Living on Lorrd had been both a blessing and a curse. He appreciate the knowledge and insights he’d gained from his time on that world but hated how much it affected how he interacted with others.

Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Janson were an excellent example of this. The commander was pure Corellian, plain as day, and had the stereotypical perfect sabaac face. The other Wraiths didn’t seem to realize just how fast and loose Wedge was with their orders or how often he was thrown for a loop by the antics of his subordinate officers.

It was Janson, though, that made Face feel like a rank amateur. Face could read agri-world in his stride and posture, but most of that had actually been overridden by years of military service. The military was so deeply ingrained in Janson’s mannerisms that it had to have started setting in before the man had finished developing. Drills, parade formations, and years spent in a snubfighter’s cockpit with still growing bones had molded the man to military life. It was easy for the others to look at Janson and see the seasoned veteran he’d become. None of them considered, though, how long ago it had been when Janson had joined the Rebellion and how disturbingly young he’d been at the time. And Face knew that Kell would probably never realize that the man who’d killed his father hadn’t even been old enough to drink on most so-called civilized worlds at the time.

There was no way Face could ever live up to the precedent set by either of the men. Especially when he still felt the pangs of the guilt Ton had scolded him about.

It was a relief when Face reached his quarters and he could slip inside without being entangled in some kind of interpersonal interaction. He slumped against the closed door for a moment, letting the solid metal plate support his weight.

Captain (brevet rank) Garik “Face” Loran. That had a ring to it. It could be the ringing of doom, but possibly not.

Scrubbing at his cheek, Face felt a familiar hint of disorientation when he fingers failed to find the scar he’d worn most of his adult life. He pushed away from the door and wandered over to his bed, fingers still rubbing slightly on smooth skin.

Once he reached his bed, he took a moment to empty his pockets, tossing the contents onto the bed before collapsing onto it. Plucking a datapad out of its charging station at the head of the bed, Face grabbed one of the datacards at random and loaded it up.

Personnel records. Skip.

Ejecting the card, he loaded another and soon found himself perusing the table of contents of an administrative handbook for officers. The manual covered everything from personnel policies to payroll to records requirements. Ugh.

Face ejected the datacard. He had a feeling this was what Janson had hinted at when he’d suggested Face do some reading.

The next card was filled with forms, both new and familiar. After those were the Wraiths’ current orders, signed by Admiral Ackbar himself, and then the card with a number of briefing documents on a wide range of topics. All things he would be expected to know off-hand and to use to help him plan missions and craft specific orders.

Face felt pressure building behind his eyes as he ejected the last datacard and tossed it the pile next to him. He stared at if for a moment. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with the datacard once he’d read through them. Keep them? Consolidate the files onto a single card? Destroy them?

Sighing, he scooped the cards up and shoved them into the small personal belongings drawer next to the bed. The answer was probably in the manual.

Collapsing back onto the bed, Face stared up at the ceiling. For better or for worse, Wedge Antilles had given him command of Wraith Squadron. Wes Janson was staying on for an unknown length of time, presumably to help settle him into the role and train another Wraith to be the executive officer.

He could handle the mission and brainstorming aspects, right? He’d basically been doing a lot of that already. He’d just be directing the Wraiths’ energies more than before. And he’d run missions. Well, parts of missions. He’d definitely taken part in several missions and made decisions during them, some of which had involved others.

And Janson would help with the paperwork and the parts of running a squadron that didn’t make it into holofilms. Why else would he be staying on when he was a Rogue pilot at heart? Antilles and Celchu probably already had ranked the current Rogue pilots so they could pick who would be asked to leave when Janson was ready to rejoin the New Republic’s premier starfighter squadron.

So… this was doable. Probably. He was in command but he had a safety net to keep the others safe should he thoroughly screw things up.

Propping his hands behind his head, Face sighed softly. He wished Ton was here.


End file.
